


Will You Meet Me in Heaven?

by mar_map, Thette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_map/pseuds/mar_map, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In “Abandon All Hope,” Dean unsuccessfully attempts to kill Lucifer and only ends up dead for his trouble. Now, in heaven, Dean’s unaware that he’s dead, instead believing that Sam was killed when they were children. On an average day Dean gets off work to find an angel waiting for him with a promise that his brother is alive and Dean can be returned to him. Only, getting out of heaven is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Meet Me in Heaven?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! This is an entry for the 2014 Dean/Cas Mini-Bang. Beta-ed by naruumiya on Livejournal. Lovely art by Thette can be found [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2629049)

**Will You Meet Me in Heaven?**

Dean hummed along to Led Zeppelin as it played on the radio. The vocals were being blasted in the large mechanic’s garage, but Dean could still hear people calling to each other and the general sound of work tools as they went about their business. The smell of gasoline was thick in his nose, encased in the small space under the car he was working on. He turned his head to the side, wiping sweat from his brow as much as he could in the enclosed space. He could feel a headache coming on. He’d been getting them for a few weeks now at random times. They always started out rather easily, then spiked intensely before dying away.

 

The radio and speakers clicked off causing Dean to glance at his watch. Closing time. Something thumped on the hood of the car he was working on. “Shift’s over, Dean!”

 

“I’m almost done with this one. I’ll lock up!” he called back.

 

“I’ll leave the lights on for you. Don’t stay too late.”

 

Dean went back to work, finishing up and listening to the sound of his fellow mechanics leave from the bay doors. He knew that they had people to go home to, unlike him. He didn’t mind pitching in extra time to finish his work. It was either spend time with the cars or spend time with the TV alone, not to mention that it put a little extra money in his pocket.

 

Half an hour later, pushing himself out from under the finished car, Dean stood, rubbing oil and grease off his hands with the towel he’d left on the car’s hood. He was about to start gathering up his tools to call it a night when the radio came on. Instead of the friendly rock music it usually played, the station crackled annoyingly. Dean frowned. He turned the dial off and was greeted with blessed silence. However, that was short lived. Before he could even step away, the overhead speakers attached to the intercom system blared to life, static fizzling through as if someone was leaning on the button. The radio sprung back to life while Dean’s attention was turned to the speakers. Reaching around to pull the plug from the socket, there was silence.

 

Dean frowned. The radio was clearly turned off. He thumped on it once for good measure before shrugging and turning around. He froze in surprise at finding a man standing in the doorway to the offices. He was dressed like an accountant, possibly a lawyer. His black hair was disheveled and his tie was crooked. Dean wondered if one of the secretaries had been getting up to something with their boyfriend in their office. He smirked at the thought.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“I’m here to help _you_.” Dean frowned at the man’s voice. It was deep, gravelly, and unexpected from such a scrawny man.

 

“I don’t need any help, thanks. If you need a repair, you’ll have to come back in the morning; we’re closed.”

 

Dean walked over to his work bench to gather his tools. He tossed the greasy towel into a bin, ignoring the strange feeling of familiarity and trust he felt towards the man in the doorway. Speaking of which, he was still there, just standing and staring at Dean with an uncomfortable intensity.

 

“Look, we’re closed. You can’t be here. I’m just about to lock up.”

 

Glancing towards the doorway, Dean jumped, hand going to his chest, startled to find the man no longer at the doorway, but standing inches away from him. Damn, he was fast and quiet, too. Dean hadn’t even known he’d moved.

 

“Dean,” he man said quietly. There was a deeper emotion lurking in his voice that made Dean uncomfortable, but he refused to take a step back, holding his ground instead. He still couldn’t explain the feeling of trust; something just told him this man wasn’t going to try to hurt him.

 

“Personal space, dude.”

 

“I apologize.” The man took a step back, putting some distance between the two of them.

 

Dean was about to retort when he winced, headache suddenly spiking. He really wanted to leave. He had some aspirin in his car, parked behind the garage. As soon as the man left, he’d be able to go retrieve it. Hopefully it would help, although more often than not, it didn’t really help alleviate the pain.

 

Not quite paying attention, Dean only noticed the man reaching out to him seconds before his hand came in contact with Dean’s forehead. It felt like there was a jet of warm water pouring over him, originating in their point of contact. He was blindsided, surprised to find the pain gone as the man pulled away.

 

“What the hell are you?” Dean growled, backing away. His back came in contact with his work bench, and reaching around, he wrapped his hand around a thick wrench. The metal was cold in his hand, but the weight felt sturdy, something perfect to arm himself with. He didn’t carry weapons anymore. He’d left that life, his dad and hunting, and for sixteen years, nothing even relatively supernatural crossed his path. It seemed like his luck had just run out.

 

“I’m Castiel, an angel of the Lord,” the man answered. He frowned, his head tilted to the side – in confusion apparently, if the look in his eye was anything to go by. “You don’t remember.”

 

“Remember what?”

 

“Everything.” Castiel’s head righted itself, and he stepped closer to Dean, only backing off when he brandished the wrench in defense. “Dean, I will not hurt you.” He head tilted again, but this time, it appeared as if he was listening to something. “We must leave, quickly.”

 

Dean shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I have no idea what the hell your deal is, but I’m not buying it.”

 

“Dean, there are angels after you. I am here to protect you.”

 

He walked forward again, pulling the wrench out of Dean’s hands before he had the chance to use it. Fingers pressed solidly against his forehead again. However, instead of the pleasant warmth of the first time, Dean felt cold. His vision began to blur, his knees buckled, and the last thing he thought about was how he needed to start going to the gym again.

 

MMMM

 

When Dean came to, he was fully intent on attacking Castiel for his freedom. However, he found himself propped up against a window, the countryside slowly passing by outside. There was the rumble of an engine, and his neck was incredibly stiff. He didn’t have a headache though, so at least there was one upside to his situation.

 

It appeared he was on a bus.

 

There were hardly any other people, rows of ugly plush blue seats unoccupied. The driver looked bored but intent on the road. Castiel was seated next to him, staring at the blue seat in front of him, trapping Dean between himself and the window. There was little to no room for escape, and Dean internally cursed the sense of peace he felt, his body telling him that he had no reason to try and run.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“You are awake.”

 

“Great deduction, Sherlock.” Castiel’s head tilted to the side in confusion. Dean rolled his eyes. “Where are we going?” he repeated.

 

“At this moment, it is unclear.”

 

“Great, so basically, you kidnapped me and hauled me onto the first bus you came up on.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Great. So, if we’re going to be here awhile, and you’re not going to let me go, you better start explaining yourself.”

 

“What do you wish to know?”

 

“There are angels chasing me, and you’re an angel too, but you’re not working with the other angels and instead, you’re going to protect me from them. Protecting me also means riding on a bus in the middle of nowhere by the looks of it.”

 

“That would be correct.”

 

“But, aren’t angels supposed to be the good guys or something? You know, flying around and healing the sick, creating minor miracles -- that sort of thing?”

 

“Some do,” Castiel answered. “But not all of them. Most are warriors like me, and they wish to use you to bring about the apocalypse. I am here to prevent that from happening.”

 

“They’re going to use me for the apocalypse? Why? How am I going to start the apocalypse? I’m a mechanic!”

 

“You are here. You’re also the sword of Michael, his true vessel. If the other angels find you, they’ll take you to him and convince you to allow him to possess you by any means necessary.”

 

He could feel a headache coming on but couldn’t help but question, “You’re an angel. Why aren’t you taking me to them?”

 

A small smile appeared on Castiel’s lips accompanied with affection? “Someone taught me that there is more to life than following orders, that I have to do what is right, and orders are not the proper path to follow at all times.”

 

“Well, someone knew what they were talking about.”

 

“Yes, he did.”

 

“I follow you, though I don’t get why _I’m_ this sword or whatever.”

 

“It is in your blood, Dean. You were chosen.”

 

“Right. What’d we do then? Run?” Yeah, that sounded like a fun way to spend the rest of his life, running away forever. “Damn, my car.” He’d just polished her up and put new rims on yesterday too. That’d all gone to waste. He just hoped that his boss would see her parked outside in the morning and take her into the garage. It would be better than some vandals smashing in the windows and stealing his CDs. Not that he’d be needing them anymore.

 

Castiel nodded, gaze returning to the seat in front of him. “At the moment, yes. My goal is to do my upmost to keep the other angels from reaching you while returning you to your brother.”

 

Dean froze, heart constricting in his chest. Castiel seemed to sense his sudden anxiety and looked at him. “You must be new. Sam is dead. He died a long time ago.” It still hurt to talk about, too. Most days Dean was able to go through the day without thinking about him, but when he did, it still stung. He’d never really had the time to grieve or deal with his brother’s death, and it had been sixteen years already. Rain splattered against the window, grey clouds covering the last traces of sun, but Dean didn’t pay attention.

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah, dude, pretty sure he is.” _I remember watching him die; I remember screaming for help; I remember how I wasn’t there when I should have been. If I’d been there, he’d still be alive_.

 

Castiel shook his head while Dean’s eyes turned toward the window. A hand landed on his shoulder in a gesture that was probably supposed to be comforting, but Castiel’s grip was just a bit too strong and unyielding to be entirely comfortable. “This world is a fabrication, Dean. It is made up of places from your memories that have been locked away inside you. _You_ are the one who created this world. That’s why it’s raining; it rains when you are upset. The faces around you are all people you’ve met or seen.” Dean turned, attempting to protest; he’d never met any of these people before, but Castiel cut him off first, “They are people you do not remember. I cannot tell you where we are going, because this world is small; it changes as we go, rendering itself based upon where your subconscious wishes to take you.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Dean shouted. A woman from the back startled awake at his shout, but Dean didn’t care. He was seething with confusion, anger and hurt. He glared viciously at Castiel, but the angel simply stared back at him, just as intense.

 

“Sam’s not dead; you are.”

 

**BBBB**

“All the souls sent to heaven are given their own ideal world to live in,” Castiel explained once Dean had calmed down enough to listen. The people in nearby rows were still sending them nervous glances, as if afraid that Dean would have another freak-out. “It would appear that your ideal world is one in which you were never a hunter. Essentially, you created another life for yourself in heaven where you could be happy. Your time on Earth is still present somewhere within you, though. A piece of your subconscious is using that knowledge to create your heavenly place.”

 

“So, Sam’s still alive topside then?”

 

“Correct.”

 

Dean gazed out to window attempting to conjure up a memory of seeing the rolling fields and stretches of open area, but he couldn’t. The scenery seemed just as foreign to him as when he woken up. A part of him still felt skeptical of Castiel’s story, but another part spoke of how he wanted it to be true, and he had no reason to doubt Castiel as of yet. “Can I go see him?”

 

“I wish to return you to your body on Earth. You will be much safer there.”

 

“All right,” Dean said, “let’s get a move on. What do we do?”

 

Castiel’s frown deepened. “Normally, angels are able to fly back and forth between heaven and Earth, but something is wrong with heaven. The regular rules do not apply anymore; instead we’ll have to find a door out.” Castiel paused before continuing. “It took me a great deal of time to find you, Dean. I went to many different pieces of heaven in which you were present, but those weren’t the real you; they were fabrications.”

 

“What?”

 

“I am not sure on what is happening within heaven. All I know is that someone is creating false worlds, but for what purpose, is unclear, only that you are the centre of it. Therefore, you are the key to finding the doorway out.”

 

“The doorway out. The pearly gates with Saint Peter’s naughty and nice list?”

 

Castiel’s head tilted. “Saint Peter does not have a ‘naughty and nice list.’”

 

“’Must not or there’s no way I would have ended up here.” But Dean couldn’t remember a life other than this one; a life where Sam was still alive, and they were both still hunters? It didn’t seem possible. How much of his life was a lie?

 

“You are a good man, Dean,” Castiel said with a frown but determined glint in his eye. After an awkward pause in which Castiel stared excessively at him as if trying to implore Dean to understand, he turned back to face forward. “I do not know how the gates will manifest themselves, but you will be able to sense it.”

 

“Seriously; that’s all you got for me?”

 

“Your subconscious will know. All you need to do is follow your instincts. They will show you the way.”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean snapped sarcastically. He couldn’t even recognize the scenery outside, how was he supposed to guide them out of heaven when he didn’t know where to go?

 

BBBB

 

Dean didn’t remember falling asleep. He recalled looking outside, trying his hardest to recognize anything, but there was nothing. Everything seemed as new and as foreign as he would have expected it to. Frustration mounting, he’d refused to talk to Castiel, which, to be perfectly honest, seemed just fine with the angel. At some point, he must have drifted off, exhausted from trying to force memories as well as the long day at work.

 

When he woke next, it was dark outside. Castiel had pulled down the window visor without waking him, and the bus was parked outside of a rural Kwik Stop. The bright lights from the station were muffled by the visor, and a few more people had joined them.

 

Wiping his eyes, Dean checked his watch. Eleven. He’d been asleep for a few hours now. He wondered how far they were from the city. Castiel sat back down in his seat as the bus driver shifted the bus back into drive. “Hungry?” Castiel asked. Dean nodded. He hadn’t really thought about it, food and bodily functions, he’d been too preoccupied with his entire existence being a lie.

 

Castiel handed over a bag containing two burgers, fries, and, he was pleased to note, a slice of pie. It wasn’t much, but it was some sort of normality, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” he said, unwrapping one of the burgers. He offered the other one to Castiel. “Want one?”

 

“I am a celestial being. I do not require food.”

 

“There’s a difference between requiring and wanting.”

 

“They are for you, Dean,” Castiel said quietly and turned forward again.

 

Dean shrugged. Whatever; let the angel do what he wanted. Dean dug into the food, humming contently and cleaning off his hands when he’d finished, filling the bag back up with the trash. Castiel took it from him, but the moment it was in the angel’s possession, it vanished as if it had never been there.

 

“Seriously, dude? Is that how you got it to begin with? Magicked it into existence?”

 

“Of course not. I bought it at the stop. There is no reason for me to ‘magic’ food into existence as we are in heaven. Sustenance here is redundant. The limitations you have placed upon yourself because of your heaven requires you to continue feeding. You would not have to if you did not want to. You would not die.”

 

“Easy for you to say. You’re not human.”

 

“Must I remind you, that you are no longer human either?”

 

Dean frowned. “So you keep saying.”

 

“It will come, Dean,” Castiel said softly. “It may take some time, but your memories will return to you. I believe that by bringing you back to Earth, the process will be expedited. I also believe that there is a part of you that wishes to remember. A part of you wants to go back to your brother.”

 

Castiel seemed so sure of himself when he said that, too. Every fiber of him held the conviction that Dean wanted to leave this life and return to his other one. Dean wasn’t sure he held that as strongly. He liked his life; sure, he didn’t have much of a family, and it was rather simple really, but it was _easy_. It made sense, and all he had to worry about was himself. He didn’t have to worry about angels, demons, ghosts, monsters, or saving someone else’s life. Here, he just had to look out for his own skin, and most of the time, that wasn’t difficult.

 

So why was Dean still going along with him?

 

**BBBB**

Dean was forgetting something. The feeling was nagging at the back of his mind, but he’d checked the house three times and nothing was jogging his memory. His keys were in his pocket, none of his electronics had been left on, and he’d checked the calendar in fear he’d forgotten an appointment. Nothing.

 

Giving up, he went about his daily routine, work, returning home, but the feeling never left. It nagged at him, distracted him throughout the day with an uneasy feeling. Something was definitely wrong, he just needed to figure out what it was.

 

He pulled his Impala into the garage, before heading into the darkened house, only, it wasn’t dark. The kitchen lights were on, and Dean could hear someone moving around. Grabbing the closest thing he could find – an umbrella, great, well it was better than nothing – Dean stepped quietly toward the kitchen with the full intent of defending his home with this umbrella. Dean had never heard of any crimes in the neighborhood before. It was probably just some kid pulling a prank or trying to be funny.

 

Dean raised the umbrella in defense, seeing a man bending over and going through a drawer. He was wearing a long coat and seemed completely oblivious to Dean’s presence. However, when Dean was close enough to swing down at him with the umbrella, the man whirled around and stopped the umbrella before it connected. Dean was taken aback, a sense of fear creeping in, until he recognized the man in front of him.

 

“Cas?”

 

What the hell?  


Dean dropped the umbrella, suddenly feeling ill at ease in the house. This wasn’t where he lived, but at the same time, it felt familiar, it felt like _his_ just as much as he felt like an intruder.

 

Turning around, Dean clutched the stainless steel sink, looking out the window to the back lawn. He tried to recall arriving at the house, the years he’d spent in it, and while they came to his mind, they weren’t fresh and clear; they felt more like a movie he’d seen once than an actual life he’d lived. He thought about the mechanic shop, meeting Castiel, and their bus trip, but _none of it felt real_. He felt like he’d been thrown into some movie where he didn’t know the script.

 

Taking a deep breath, he asked, “How did we get here?”

 

“The bus passed through a tunnel,” Castiel answered. “It would appear that the tunnel was a doorway from one part of your mind to another.”

 

“Right.” Because that made sense.

 

Sensing his distress – annoyance and confusion – Castiel continued. “Your mind is made up of fragments of memory; they are laid out in a trail or pathway. In your situation, it would appear that the pathway had manifested itself as a road or highway, perhaps a tunnel in particular is needed as a doorway.” Dean’s knuckles turned white as he continued clutching the sink. Castiel’s voiced lowered a few notches and held a touch of sympathy? “The fact that we crossed from one of your memories into another is a good thing, Dean. It means that we are progressing through your mind. I believe that when we have reached the end, the doorway out of heaven will be made clear.”

 

“So, we follow this road and everything will make sense?”

 

“Now that we have passed from one memory into another, I may be able to unlock the previous one in your mind.”

 

“And I’ll remember all this stuff?”

 

“If it works, you should remember the previous place, yes.”

 

“All right, go for it. What do I have to do?”

 

Castiel didn’t answer, instead, he reached forward – Dean resisted stepping away from him – and pressed his fingers on Dean’s head. The touch was gentle, warm; Castiel’s gaze was intense. Dean winced when he felt a gentle prod like someone was somehow touching his thoughts, but when he relaxed, the touch was soft, reverent.

 

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks being dropped on his head.

 

He could see the garage, but it was different now, older, more worn. He saw the heaps of scrap metal and cars outside, and Dean _remembered._ He remembered playing there when he was a kid, darting between the stacks of cars, spending his nights in the house, building up his Impala from scratch when she’d needed fixing, _Bobby_.

Dean grabbed the closest thing to him, which just happened to be Castiel’s shoulders, to steady himself, knees weak from the experience. It was like his entire past was being rewritten, but he knew, _knew_ that these memories were real, true.

 

Breathing out, Dean regained his balance, letting go of Castiel quickly. “If we keep going, will that happen again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And I’ll get to see my brother again?” Because all those memories of Bobby’s house, all those years and days spent there and something was still missing. _Sam._

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay, then, let’s go.”

 

**BBBB**

Without preamble, Dean and Castiel were off on the road. Dean had nothing but the clothes he was wearing and his wallet tucked away in his pocket with enough cash to keep them on the road for a few weeks. It wasn’t that Dean really thought he needed the money, he planned for them to make it out of his world as soon as possible and into the next; when that happened, the money would no longer serve him any purpose. Regardless, the security of having his wallet with him was comforting. Any reassurance, however mundane or illogical, was appreciated in the messed up situation he’d found himself in.

 

The road in front of them stretched out along grassy Midwest plains. The summer breeze ruffled his hair as it traveled through the car window. Castiel was in the passenger seat, stoic as ever, staring straight ahead through the windshield as if it were a television screen. Dean didn’t interrupt him, didn’t dare break the fragile peace that was the open road before them and classic rock coming through the speakers. For some reason, this was the most at ease Dean had felt in a long time which only made him feel more off his rocker. Before, he’d had an easy life, a good job, a nice place to live in. Now, he had nothing, everything he thought he knew was a lie, and he was being chased by angels of all things, but _this_ , sitting in a car without talking to the man in the seat next to him, this set his soul at ease.

 

Castiel’s head tilted to the side, and his brows knitted together slightly. Dean glanced over at him, but the other gave no indication as to what the source of his peculiar change in attitude was. “What are you doing?”

 

“Listening.”

 

“To what?”

 

It clearly wasn’t the song.

 

“Angels are able to communicate with each other. I am listening to my brothers in hope of discerning their location in relation to our own.” His brows knitted further. “Something is not right.”

 

“Are they here?” Dean asked with a hint of alarm.

 

“No,” Castiel answered immediately before pausing, Dean assumed, to continue to listen. “They have no yet reached your heaven, which is strange in itself. Finding a section of heaven is not difficult for an angel. The difficult part is locating the memory the occupant is residing in at any given moment. Something is waylaying them, although, I do not know what. They appear to be at a loss as well.”

 

“Well, that’s a good thing, right? It’ll take them longer to get here.”

 

“Perhaps. The more pressing matter is the nature of that which is containing them and if it poses any threat to us.”

 

Dean studied Castiel, his set shoulders, and the furrow in his brow. “If it’s on our side right now, that’s all I care about,” Dean replied, his voice set. Castiel was looking at him now, scrutinizing, but also with the strange look of affection he’d had in the other memory. “We’ll just have to get back topside before it comes after us too.”

 

Castiel didn’t reply.

 

“So, Cas,” Dean said, reaching out to turn down the volume of the stereo. The affectionate looks were really starting to dig at him, making him ill at ease, and he planned to confront it. And, well, at the moment, there wasn’t anything else to do. “What’s going on between the two of us?”

 

Castiel tilted his head, looking over at Dean, studying him with furrowed brows. Dean glanced over at him between ensuring safety on the road. “We are attempting to leave heaven. Have you forgotten? Perhaps your current memories are being confused with the ones you are suppressing.” Castiel reached out to press his fingers along Dean’s temple, but Dean was faster, ducking away from Castiel’s touch.

 

“Woah, dude,” Dean said, “give me a minute. I mean, us, like, are we sleeping together or are you just some sort of angel on my shoulder.” Castiel cringed a bit when Dean suggested they could be sleeping together, and for some reason, that gave him a small measure of satisfaction.

 

Dean was silent, considering. When he’d voiced the idea of them sleeping together, it just didn’t ring true, it didn’t feel _right_. Not that Dean would mind, no, not at all. He hadn’t really had time to consider Castiel as anything other than an angel, a fragment of his past, someone to be wary of, until he gave himself the time to, like now. Dean had never been overly attracted to men; he much preferred women with their painted lips and smooth skin, but that wasn’t to say he hadn’t had his fair share of male liaisons as well. Castiel was definitely attractive enough to catch Dean’s attention.

 

Then, there were the looks Castiel would send him probably without even realizing it, just as he was doing now, although, at the moment the affection was clouded by a layer of embarrassment and fear. But Dean thought back over the past few days – if they could really be called that – and the looks. It was definitely affection but laced with something else, respect certainly, and perhaps even a bit of lust, maybe adoration as well.

 

“Or is having sex some sort of angel no-no?”

 

“It is not forbidden,” Castiel said quietly.

 

“So we were having sex then.” Dean actually felt a flush of heat at the thought. _Sex_ with an _angel._

 

“We did not.”

 

Dean was a bit surprised; he’d been so _sure_. He studied Castiel, who seemed to be closing in on himself, embarrassed by where their talk turned to. His cheeks were lightly flushed, and he wouldn’t meet Dean’s gaze anymore. His hands twisted nervously around the belt on his coat. For an angel, he seemed so completely human in that moment. Castiel’s bravado had left him, leaving an anxious bundle of nerves.

 

“Why not?” Dean asked it softly, letting some of his gruffness fall away. Castiel’s tense shoulders relaxed a bit at the gentle tone.

 

“It would not have been appropriate.”

 

“But you want to, don’t you?” Dean reached out on impulse, stilling Castiel’s restless hands by taking one into his own, his thumb stroking gently over Castiel’s knuckles. He could feel the tense lines of Castiel’s bones. “Cas?” Dean looked at their linked hands, only, they weren’t anymore. Castiel had wrenched out of his grip.

 

Dean would have felt somewhat offended by that rejection but Castiel had shouted his name and dove across the empty space between them to sharply pull the steering wheel in his direction. In the corner of his eye, Dean saw something blocking their path on the road, an animal if he had to guess. Castiel quick reflexes had adjusted them out of its path, but Dean’s weren’t fast enough to correct the wheels to keep them from plowing straight into one of the trees along the side of the road. When had those gotten there? Not that this was really the time to be thinking about that. No, Dean was more concerned with the pounding in his head from the force of the impact.

 

“Cas?” he groaned out, blinking away stars flashing across his vision. A sick feeling filled his stomach, but he felt that had more to do with the state he knew his car would be in than any actual harm to himself. In fact, as far as car crashes went, he felt rather unscathed. Dean reached across the seat, grabbing a handful of Castiel’s tan coat. “Cas?” he repeated, “talk to me.”

 

“I am all right,” Castiel answered after a pause. His voice sounded rough, but he was an angel, and Dean decided to take his word on the state of his health. Releasing Castiel’s coat, Dean pushed the door open, already feeling dread creep up when he noticed the smoke curling up from around the engine, although, that’s not what really caught Dean’s attention. No, he was more preoccupied with the stone wall that was there, crumpling the Impala’s front end into itself.

 

“What the hell just happened?” If he didn’t have a headache because of the crash, he certainly did now. “This was a tree before, a friggin’ tree; where the hell did this wall come from?”

 

Castiel exited the Impala’s other side. Dean was pleased to note that he didn’t seem any worse for wear. He stepped around the car to join Dean’s side. The man noted the tense lines of Castiel’s posture. He’d always seemed a bit stiff and uncomfortable, but this tension felt different, threatening. “We need to find the road,” Castiel said quietly, more of an order than a suggestion.

 

“Easier said than done. Look at my baby!”

 

“We’ll have to walk.”

 

Dean’s frown deepened at the thought of having to leave his car, especially in such a shape of disrepair. In the second it took for him to take his eyes off the car, fully turn his displeased expression on Castiel, and turn back, the car was gone, vanished like it had never been there. “The hell!” Dean turned back to Castiel quickly for an explanation and found that the wall was now a thin corridor stretching out before them. “What are we, stuck in the Matrix?” Dean growled.

 

Castiel turned around so that he was facing Dean, who noticed that it was growing harder to see as if someone had turned the lighting down, leaving a darkened hall in front of them and behind them. Castiel’s blue eyes flashed in the dim lighting. “Dean, I need you to concentrate on finding a way out of here.”

 

“I don’t know what to do!” Dean growled back. He could hear the rising tone of concern in Castiel’s voice and that was setting him on edge. What worried an angel? What from his forgotten memories could worry an angel? “I thought these were just memories. I didn’t think they could do anything to us.”

 

“They can if you believe in them.”

 

A scream sounded from behind them, and Dean stiffened. He reached for his gun, and holding it securely, he tried to remember when he started carrying one. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the last time he had fired one, let alone why he would have one in his possession, but it felt familiar and comfortable in his hand. The uneasy feeling Dean had continued to increase. What kind of person was he? “The memory-head-touch-thing, can you do that again?”

 

Castiel’s frowned, but reached forward without preamble. Dean allowed him, thankful he knew what to expect this time. He allowed the gentle prodding against his mind to relax him and his tightened nerves, trying to forget their circumstances and focus on regaining his memories.

 

Dean’s mind reeled when Castiel clicked the memories into place. Suddenly, he could remember the house, and he understood the feeling of wrongness when he’d been there, as if the house hadn’t belonged to him because it _hadn’t_. He remembered the satisfaction over saving a life even if it meant he was going to lose his own, he felt the urge to experience life because he knew his would be ending soon, showing up at Lisa’s doorstep like no time had passed, meeting Ben and feeling relief and disappointment because he had been _so sure_.

 

Now, his head reeled from something other than the car crash. When Dean reopened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Castiel, eyes bright with a hint of hurt? Disappointment? The look was gone so fast that Dean wasn’t even sure he had seen it to begin with. The sight of Castiel grounded him, however, focusing on their current situation rather than the memories circulating in his head, trying to fit together into a map of his life, trying to reconcile his ending with Lisa and his clearly developing feelings for Castiel.

 

“What is this place?” Dean asked, shaking off the last of his headache.

 

“It’s Hell,” Castiel said quietly, “but that’s not important right now. Dean, you must concentrate on a way out.”

 

“Not important! You said this is _Hell_ , how is that not important?” _Hell?_ Why was that something he was familiar with? And suddenly, he was entirely focused on their situation, noticing the harsh set to Castiel’s lips, his eyes glazed over in pain. Dean’s free hand went to steady his, friend? “Cas, buddy, you okay?”

 

Castiel took a step back, away from his hand. “We need to leave. Hell is not a safe place for angels. It is weakening my grace, a sensation that is not entirely comfortable.” Dean nodded, trusting that Castiel would hold out until they found an exit. Another scream sounded from behind them, louder than the last, and screeches began echoing through the corridor as if it came from some sort of monstrous bird.

 

Dean pushed Castiel forward, the urgency of their situation settling in more firmly. “Let’s get out of here then.” Nothing could make Dean want to stay.

 

The further in they traveled, the more gruesome the corridor became. Splotches of blood streaked the rough stones, reddened by the torch light that guided their path. The air was frigid, and Dean wished he had his leather jacket with him, and not even the fire from the sparse torches gave out any warmth; it was as if they burned cold instead of hot. When they came across the first set of cells, Castiel diverted his gaze and tried to continue forward, but Dean couldn’t help but stop. He turned toward the weeping coming from inside, chest aching with sympathy and horror and the bloody mess of flesh inside. The woman inside – Dean was pretty sure it was a woman, at least – noticed him after a few moments, shrieking as she lunged forward, fingers curling into the cell’s iron bars. Dean could see bones jutting out of her broken fingers at awkward angles.

 

Dean thought he’d be sick.

 

Castiel grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him forward and away as Dean heaved for breath. “Calm down,” Castiel told him, and the angel’s touch seemed to release the uneasiness in Dean’s skin, numbing his mind like a drug and warming him against the air’s chill.

 

“Don’t,” Dean said, brushing Castiel’s hand off of him. He saw the hurt look in Castiel’s eyes at the action, but something told him that despite the comfort Castiel was giving him, he shouldn’t let him use any of his angel mojo or whatever he was doing. “You’re weak as it is,” Dean told him, “don’t waste your energy on me.” Dean saw Castiel forming a retort, so he grabbed the sleeve of the angel’s coat and pulled him along down the hall. Shrieks from the barred woman echoing on unforgiving stone walls, silenced only when they came upon a door that Dean opened without hesitation – which probably wasn’t his best idea, but whatever – pulling Castiel inside after him.

 

Pain was beginning to bubble over the surface of Dean’s mind, the force of the hellish memories trying to click into place with a life he couldn’t quite remember. He released Castiel to look around the stone room. It was circular, with brightly burning torches, and was relatively tame after the cell block they had just come through. There was a rack in the middle of the room that Dean carefully diverted his eyes from, only to have them land on a table of horrific implements.

 

Walking to the table, Dean felt a sick familiarity to the shining blades and sharp devises. They were all polished, clean, and gleaming in the light cast by the torches. “What is this place?” Dean asked quietly. He didn’t really expect an answer. Dean had a feeling he didn’t really want to know the answer to his question.

 

“This is where we met,” Castiel said suddenly. Dean jumped in surprise, not realizing how close Castiel had come behind him while he’d been examining the table. If he turned around, there would only be inches separating them. Castiel’s voice was reverent, perhaps a bit upset, and affectionate. “My garrison and three others laid siege upon Hell for many decades in an attempt to rescue your soul. When I finally broke through, your soul was so bright, hurting and distressed, but it shone through Hell’s darkness. I gripped you as tight as I could to pull you out, to restore you to your home again.” Castiel smiled at him softly, an odd sight in the face of all the darkness around them. “Now, I’m doing it again,” Castiel’s smile vanished instantly, “only this time, I must rescue you from my brothers.”

 

Noticing the sadness flashing through Castiel’s eyes, Dean reached forward to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but as soon as he did, a searing pain flared down his arm. Dean let out a sharp grunt of pain, pulling up the fabric on his left shoulder to investigate the source of his sudden pain. The skin on his shoulder was an angry red, raised in the semblance of a handprint. “The hell - ?”

 

A crash sounded overhead and the walls began to shake. In a ditch effort to keep himself upright, Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s arm, who did the same in turn, and they steadied each other from falling. Dust poured down on them like rain, falling from the quaking ceiling as the walls began to split apart. The screams of the damned were lost in the grinding sound of stones shattering and crashing to the ground. Dean looked at Castiel, ready to pull him out of the room, but he was talking urgently, voice drowned out. He seemed to realize this and instead, reached forward and forced Dean’s eyes closed as a blinding light lit up behind them, and a sound similar to white noise filled his ears.

 

Castiel pulled Dean close to him, hand burying itself in his hair. Dean returned the embrace, fingers clutching at Castiel’s coat, fairly certain that the world around them was ending. Everything was just a blur of light even with his eyes squeezed shut, head buried in the safety of Castiel’s shirt.

 

The ground lurched underneath their feet, and Dean was pulled forward, losing his balance, hands grasping at nothing. He opened his eyes with a start to find himself seated quite comfortably in the Impala. His hands closed around the steering wheel, only slightly surprised to find them shaking. Dean let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, heart hammering in his chest. Turning to the side, he expected to find Castiel seated beside him in the same state of shakiness.

 

“Cas?” Dean called. He turned quickly around to the backseat, but the car was clearly devoid of Castiel. Forcing himself to move, Dean climbed out of the car. The Impala was parked outside a gas station. There were a few cars parked at the grocery store across the street but no people in sight. “Cas!” Dean shouted.

 

“Dean?”

 

Turning around quickly, Castiel stood beside the gas pump, looking just as confused as Dean felt, because he had certainly not been there a second ago. “Dude, you okay?”

 

“I am fine.” Castiel’s head tilted, brows furrowing. “We will talk in the car. We must leave immediately.” Before waiting for an answer, Castiel was walking around the Impala and climbing into the passenger side. “Dean, we must hurry.”

 

“Right, yeah, okay,” Dean answered, although, no, it _wasn’t_ okay. He started the engine, pulling the car out onto the street, taking a right into the small town. “How’d we get out?” Dean asked without preamble. They hadn’t been following any sort of road; the world had just sort of split and here they were. “And where’d you go?”

 

“The memory ended,” Castiel supplied, “and therefore, we were forced out of it.”

 

Dean wanted to question more; he could feel them just on the tip of his tongue, but then he looked over at Castiel. His eyes were dimmed and his shoulders slumped. He looked exactly like he’d just been through Hell and back.   Dean stayed silent, at least for now, wondering if the aftereffects of his last memory were still bothering the angel or if it was something else. Taking a leap of faith, Dean reached across the seat and squeezed Castiel’s hand comfortingly.

 

They drove for a few more minutes before Dean pulled the car over at a diner along the side of the road. “Let’s grab a bite, and yeah, I know we’re in danger, but I’m hungry and you need to chill. A few minutes isn’t going to hurt us.”

 

And, well, yeah, maybe it could, but Dean had yet to see these angels chasing them. It seemed like a faraway problem, overshadowed by Dean’s desire to hear the answers to the questions swarming at him. Ordering a bacon cheeseburger from the gorgeous blonde at the counter, Dean pulled up a stool at the bar.

 

“So, Cas, it’s whammy time, lay it on me.” When Castiel’s head began to tilt, Dean plowed on, “do the memory thing, so I can remember.”

 

“Dean,” Castiel said warningly. “Your last memory was of Hell. It is not particularly pleasant, nor is it something you should volunteer your mind to remember. The results could be quite severe.”

 

“But I’m already remembering, right? That’s what this whole place is about! You said I’d remember everything when you pulled me back topside anyway. Now’s as good a time as any to remember.” Dean was adamant. He could only imagine the horrors of Hell, especially if what they’d just come from was only a short snippet of what he’d undergone.

 

Castiel begrudgingly conceded his point. Now, the process had become a bit of a routine, and Dean awaited the feeling of Castiel pushing at his mind, unlocking the memories. He closed his eyes, anticipating, but what he hadn’t expected, and he really, _really_ should have, was the unbelievable amount of pain that came with these memories. The endless corridors of Hell, the horror of being on the rack, but the worst was the feeling of changing from tortured into _torturer_ , Alistair’s sinister smile, and the blinding light before he was awake topside.

 

His muscles contracted in spasms of pain but another brush of fingers from Castiel made the pain fade away, leaving only the ache of the memories behind in his head. “That was rough,” Dean growled out. He watched the weary but concerned way that Castiel was looked at him before letting his head rest on Castiel’s shoulder. “The light at the end,” Dean said, “was that you?”

 

From his new vantage point, Dean saw the way that Castiel hesitated before bringing his hand up to stroke through Dean’s hair. “Yes. I was sent to pull you out. My garrison and I did some damage to Hell’s infrastructure where you were being held before we could grasp you. Your soul was very bright, like a beacon, despite how long you had been there. It guided me to you.”

 

“Thanks for, uh, pulling me out.”

 

For a moment Castiel seemed surprised, and Dean felt a flicker of satisfaction in being able to catch the angel off guard. “You are welcome, Dean,” he replied softly. Dean allowed his eyes to close and be lulled by Castiel’s tender, somewhat reverent touches. He took a deep breath and he felt himself falling asleep. When was the last time he had slept? It felt like ages ago and with all the jumping from place to place, it was harder to register how much time had passed. “You are being rather affectionate, Dean.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Before, Sam was the only one you would accept affection from. I believed it would be the same now.” Castiel was quiet, and Dean didn’t move.

 

“I’ve lost everyone I’ve cared about,” Dean said slowly, feeling the words catch in his throat. It was almost awkward and embarrassing to say anything, “I miss being close to people.” There was one thing his memories were still devoid of and that was _Sam_. A part of Dean, a small, dark, lurking part of him, still believed that this was nothing more than a dream. He’d wake up, and Castiel would just be fiction and Sam would still be dead. Sitting up straight in his chair, Castiel’s hand fell from Dean’s hair and brushed against his shoulder before coming to rest at the angel’s side.

 

Before Castiel could pull away, Dean leaned forward again, kissing him. Castiel jerked in surprise, but one of Dean’s calloused hands against his cheek stilled him. Dean pressed forward and felt Castiel’s hesitant response. When Dean did pull away after a few seconds, Castiel blinked at him with blue eyes. “Dean, I – I.” He didn’t say anything else, falling into silence, voice a few octaves lower than usual; Dean hadn’t even known that was possible.

 

“The hell!” Dean exclaimed when he finally took his eyes off of the angel long enough to realize that their setting had changed once again. Instead of the white diner walls and the smell of grease, they were in a hotel room with horrible floral wallpaper and the slight smell of cleaning product.

 

Castiel flushed. “This is heaven. We are going through your memories, but they are still connected to your subconscious. You want food, and we appear in a diner. You kiss me, and we, well….” Dean definitely didn’t need Castiel to finish that though, blush already creeping across his cheeks and neck.

 

“Look, it wasn’t like –“

 

“You do not need to explain yourself to me.”

 

But Dean felt like he _should._ The way Castiel was now avoiding his eyes was making him uneasy and more embarrassed. He leaned forward to awkwardly place a hand on Castiel’s arm when it struck him. “Hey, when I appeared in the car earlier, you weren’t there.” Dean frowned and retreated into himself a bit. He pushed resurfacing memories of Hell to the back of his mind. He didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with an attempt to sift through any of those. “Where were you?”

 

Castiel meet is eyes again – although it seemed a bit grudging in a nervous way rather than angry. “You are traveling in a straight line from memory to memory. It’s not the same for me. When one of your memories closes, I have to find my way to where you are.” Castiel reached forward to press fingers against Dean’s temple, and Dean felt the familiar push that signaled Castiel looking through his thoughts and memories. Quickly, he pushed all thoughts of attraction and arousal away in the hopes Castiel wouldn’t stumble upon them. “It’s as I thought,” continued Castiel after pulling away.

 

“What is? Is my head broken?” he asked nervously, jumping to the worst conclusion.

 

“Far from that.” Castiel smiled at him softly. “Despite your time in heaven, your instincts for danger are still in operation. Alongside this space of heaven we are currently in, you have created dozens more of spaces. They act like a real memory, a real piece of heaven, but are completely devoid of _you_.”

 

“Okay, you need to slow down and speak to me in human.”

 

“Your subconscious is aware you are being pursued by angels. To keep yourself safe, you’ve created dozens of empty heavens. The angels cannot tell which one contains you and which do not. That is why when you move from one memory to another I cannot follow unless you call for me.”

 

Dean’s brows furrowed, “How can I be doing all this without knowing I’m doing it!” He stood, worked up for a reason he couldn’t name. He felt, once again, like a stranger in his own skin, like he didn’t actually know who he was. The feeling hadn’t been present in the last memory or so, he had felt like he was finally understanding who he was, and now it was back like a nightmare he couldn’t rid himself of.

 

“Instinct is most likely guiding you, but it is difficult to discern for sure.” Castiel stood and hesitantly placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It is keeping you safe.” Dean turned around to wrap Castiel in a surprised hug. After a moment of shock, Castiel raised his hands to reciprocate, feeling awkward but pleased. Dean leaned into him briefly before pulling away.

 

“Cas, I’m going to kiss you,” Dean warned as he raised his hand to rest it against Castiel’s jaw. Fingers brushed against the angel’s stubble; Dean could practically feel him shudder while he nodded. Pressing forward, Dean’s lips brushed against Castiel’s before he pressed their lips together more firmly, feeling Castiel nervously kiss back.

 

Laughing against Castiel’s lips, Dean coaxed him to relax. He rubbed the anxious tension out of the angel’s shoulders while guiding him over to one of the room’s beds where they both tumbled down into a heap of limbs. Dean drove the nervousness away with soft murmurs and careful touches until Castiel became bolder, eager to reciprocate Dean’s touches. Soft breaths of pleasure filled the air, and later, still tangled together, one of Castiel’s fingers traced lazy patterns against Dean’s chest.

 

Dean ran his fingers through Castiel’s already tousled hair, and it felt as if Castiel purred onto his chest. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss the angel again, satisfied. His entire body hummed pleasantly. It was nice to have someone to share a bed with, body warm and pressed against his own; it had been a long time since he had done this with anyone, and Castiel, well, Dean had absolutely no complaints.

 

Well, Dean _wouldn’t_ have had any complaints if they hadn’t been intruded on. “Castiel, this is a rather unexpected turn of events.” Two men and a woman stood before their bed, expressions stoic, adorned in business suits. Dean found himself and Castiel immediately clothed – sort of wondering if he’d done it or Castiel’s angel mojo had, not that that was important at the moment. The two of them disentangled themselves, vulnerable in their position on the bed. “This is rather compromising, isn’t it?”

 

“And you can go to Hell,” Dean snapped, “and get out of my heaven.”

 

Dean focused on expelling them, figuring that if he had the power to call Castiel to him, jumping all over the place, and create fake heavens, he’d at least have the power to shove these guys out. At the same time, he reached over to the bedside table, hand closing around the gun he knew would be there.

 

The man who’d spoken before laughed, clearly the leader of their little business-suit-wearing trio. Dean felt a tendril of hatred for him begin to develop. “We’re angels; we don’t work that way, Dean, but I commend you for trying. Now, why don’t you come with us, without a fight, and we’ll return you to that body of yours, how’s that sound?”

 

Frowning, Dean rose to his feet. “Actually, I think I’ll stay.”

 

Now, the leader was frowning as well. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to see your brother again?”

 

“I’ll find him without the help of you clowns.”

 

“Let’s be reasonable, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, being reasonable has never been my strong suit.” Dean raised his gun, firing at the angel. The bullets didn’t seem to faze him, puncturing holes into his immaculate suit but not slowing him down in the least. He didn’t even flinch. Before, his expression had been mocking, like an adult indulging an ornery child. Now, that was completely wiped away, replaced by a look of unabashed anger. He took a step toward Dean, who was forced to fumble around to reload the gun, having already emptied it into the angel’s chest. In the blink of an eye, Castiel was off the bed and appeared behind one of the other angels, driving a silver blade through their chest before rounding on the woman and doing the same. They hadn’t stood a chance.

 

“Now, Castiel,” the lone angel growled, “don’t get in my way.” He turned to deal with Castiel directly.

 

“Leave him alone, Zachariah.” Castiel’s voice was a deep rumble. His blood-streaked blade was clutched tightly in his hand. “Dean, run! Find the exit!” Dean didn’t need to be told twice, making a break for the door of the motel. He saw Castiel step in front of it, blocking Zachariah’s path, blade held threateningly in his hand. There was something about the set of Castiel’s face and stance that told Dean he wouldn’t be an easy obstacle for Zachariah to get around, but despite that, Dean still hesitated at the door. Was it safe to leave Castiel alone? Dean wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened.

 

However, in the end, it wasn’t Dean’s decision. Castiel raised his free hand in Dean’s direction, brows furrowed in concentration. There was a push against Dean’s back like a hand shoving him before the door slammed shut behind him. The last thing Dean saw of Castiel was him turning to meet Zachariah, blade coming up to defend himself against one of Zachariah’s own.

 

Dean turned around immediately, grabbing for the door handle but only catching air. The door was gone, the motel, everything. Instead, as far as Dean could see was empty fields and grass. The breeze that assaulted him was warm, carrying dandelion seeds through the air to rest in the grass around him. Turning back around slowly, he noticed that his shoes were missing, feet cushioned by the soft ground underfoot. The only thing disrupting the miles of grass was a single willow tree yards ahead of him.

 

“Cas!” Dean shouted into the clear sky. “Cas, where are you?” There was no reply.

 

Rather than standing in the empty field waiting for something – or someone – to come to him, Dean headed for the single willow tree. There were no birds, only the sound of the wind through the tree’s branches, tugging at the leaves. When he was close enough, Dean reached forward, bark abnormally smooth beneath his fingers.

 

“You will see him again.”

 

Dean whirled around at the sound of the voice, heart beating about a mile a minute. “What is it with you angels and coming up behind me!” snapped Dean. He took cautionary steps back, not sure whether or not he could trust this new angel. They were about the same height and smiling at Dean almost nicely. Dean didn’t trust it for a moment. Instead, he attempted to arm himself, but his gun had disappeared at some point between being shoved from one memory to the next.

 

“I apologize.” The angel raised his hands in an attempt to placate Dean, taking a few steps back as well. Dean didn’t relax, eyes still watching him and stance still rigid. “You have reached the end of your journey, Dean. For now. I am Zadkiel, I have both the power to restore your memories to you, completely, and return you back to Earth.”

 

“Really?” It was tempting, oh so tempting to just walk up to him and demand to be sent back, but after the motel room and seeing the angels out to return him to his body for other reasons, well, Dean wasn’t ready to trust him yet. “And how do I know I’m not going to end up as one of heaven’s puppets?”

 

“You won’t,” Zadkiel replied. His voice was even, and he even shrugged. “You will have nothing to go on but faith.” He smiled. “I’m not like them. I don’t have ulterior motives like some of my brothers. My sincerest wish now is to give you a small measure of happiness.” The angel frowned. “I am sorry, Dean. You and your brother, much of what you are facing is not deserved but some seem to believe that it is necessary. _Foretold_ even.”

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Dean said, voice no more than a growl. “You’re going to zap me with your angel mojo to send me back topside so that I can be _happy?”_

 

Zadkiel nodded. “Is that so unbelievable? That someone wishes for you happiness?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Not really something I’m used to.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And what’s going to happen to Cas?” Dean asked, ignoring what Zadkiel had said. “You going to save him to?”

 

Zadkiel shook his head. “Castiel does not need saving. Zachariah will not kill him. You will see him again.”

 

Dean frowned, pausing before walking forward, invading Zadkiel’s space. “All right. Let’s get going then. Send me back.” Zadkiel seemed only slightly surprised by Dean’s sudden agreement. Instead, he nodded and reached out to touch Dean’s forehead like Castiel always did. This is where they had been trying to go this entire time, after all. If Castiel was risking his life for him to be here, to go back to Earth, Dean wasn’t going to waste it.

 

But, wait.

 

“Hold it!” Dean shouted just as Zadkiel’s eyes began to glaze over with light, with power. “All this – all this _everything_ that’s happened. The running, the stuff with Cas, all _these_ memories will stay too, right?” Dean hadn’t really thought about it, regaining old memories, his _real_ life, only to lose all the ones he had from heaven, all the time he’d spent with Castiel.

 

“I am sorry, Dean.”

 

“No!” Dean shouted. He could feel the power building again. “Don’t make me forget! Let me remember everything!” He reached up to pull Zadkiel’s hand away, but he was no match for a centuries old angel. The arm was resolute, and Dean could feel a prodding against him mind like when Castiel had always returned his memory but foreign, suddenly unwelcomed.

 

Dean felt like screaming at the splitting pain in his skull. Already, he could feel his time in heaven leaving him, drifting away like a forgotten dream. He attempted to grab onto them, Castiel’s smile, the warmth of his hands, and the deep resonance of his voice. _Anything_. Even as they began to fade away, Dean latched onto the last thing he had, the ball of fire and warmth that was the love he’d developed for the angel, something he’d never voiced, but hoped, desperately, that Castiel _knew_.

 

“I am sorry, Dean,” he heard Zadkiel repeat forlornly; he sounded truly apologetic. Dean’s vision had already gone, replaced by blinding white light and static in his ears only drowned out by Zadkiel’s gentle voice. “You will see him again.”

 

Dean opened his eyes to darkness, chill creeping into his jacket. Of course, that was the least of his worries. Even the pounding ache of his head that caused him to groan as he sat up was overshadowed by the chanting demons spread out before him. Sam’s just a few steps away, and Dean is more than relieved to see that he’s fine, or, well, at least as fine as he can be given the situation.

 

Head still aching, he hardly registers what’s going on around him, half of his mind wondering if he had a concussion or some serious brain issues going on – although that’s not compared with being _dead,_ but this is no time to think about _that_. The next thing he knows, Castiel is there, hushing him.   The only thing Dean really registers is the sad and heartbroken look in Castiel’s eyes before he and Sam are zapped into the safety of Bobby’s house.

 

 


End file.
